Lights!Camera!Music! (St Andrew's Players)

For those of you living on some distant planet, it’s been pretty rough down here lately. This week’s storms are little more than a sparrow’s fart compared with the harsh economic winds which seem to have been blowing through our wallets since Clegg and Cameron were in short pants. There was a time when folks splashing out tarted up their houses or upgraded the old motor. These days the lucky ones pay off their gas bill or shamelessly switch on their lights for a self indulgent half an hour. Or it seems like that. Given the constant media reminders of food banks for the starving and ‘eat or heat’ debates it is hardly surprising that the financial plight of local theatrical societies figures fairly low on the agenda. Parting people from their pounds for a night out gets harder and harder. And those pounds they do part with rarely reflect the true cost of all but the most basic productions. Especially musical ones for modern audiences conditioned for West End blockbusters.

They are a sensible lot down at St Andrews. You can’t do a high quality Into the Woods, Drowsy Chaperone, or Children of Eden for peanuts but that is the price you have to put on the tickets if you want a local audience. And that comes at a cost. So it is hardly surprising that in between times most societies find other means to subsidise their local blockbusters. Lights!Camera!Music! clearly falls into that category. Minimal staging, minimal props and costumes, minimal band. Rely heavily on your individual singers, sprinkle in a bit of visual trickery, and trust enough folks turn up to swell the depleting coffers and put a smile on the face of your accountants and your show choosing committee. Great news folks, we can do Miss Saigon after all.

With such shows you inevitably cherry pick. Well I cherry picked Your Song (David Mills), Man or Muppet (Luke Storey and Jonathan Mills), and Sound of Silence (David Mills and John O’Leary) as being particularly notable. And I would also have cherry picked You’ll Never Walk Alone (Frances Hall) if I wasn’t married to her and Moon River (Andy Sizmur) if they had included him in the programme. But perhaps I have anyway. But the outstanding numbers were the collective Sweeney Todd Prologue and West Side Story (Tonight) and the individual Diamonds Are Forever (Alex Colledge-Orr). All these made me tingle in unexpected places. Miss Orr has a voice as rich and brown as treacle and, against an imaginative backdrop of James Bond films, she delivered my personal top of the podium highlight.

I would have liked that filmic backdrop a bit more. It started proceedings nicely and ended imaginatively with a roll call of all the participants, including the popcorn maker, in true cinematic style. Stagers Emma Orr and Emma Mills, backed by Jonathan Mills’ lively trio, had clearly given their evening of limited resources a heavy splash of creative thought. I liked it. So did the audience, and there were a lot of them. And so did their accountants. Not many of them I am told. Far too expensive. Roy Hall

Educating Rita ( Wheathampstead DS )

****

I find it easy to relate to Rita. Willy Russell’s heroine of Educating fame may have a scouse accent as thick as Mersey fog but in all other respects we are two peas in a pod.  Working class post war baby, desperately seeking culture and an escape from mind numbing council estate values. Harold Wilson’s Open University opened up a world of opportunity for the aesthetically deprived and Rita eagerly grabs it with large hands and an even larger mouth. She may have come to Chekhov and Ibsen later than I did but she gorges on it like a child in a sweetshop. Russell’s famous play is good because his monster of a mouthpiece for the changing times is a comic creation of the highest order and her tutor, Frank, an intricate fragile foil on which to bounce the narrative and drive the conflict. Get the chemistry right and it is a play that zings.

That this version from Wheathampstead almost totally succeeded owes much to the brilliant portrayal of Rita from Sarah Brindley. You believed in this woman from the moment she entered the book strewn tutorial room. Desperate to learn and sharp as a Liverpool razor, this Rita grabbed you by the throat and never let go. Scene by scene Miss Brindley created an offstage life that was both bleak and unfulfilled. You could almost see the unfeeling husband, the dreary hairdresser clients, the pathetic mother yearning for a better song. Beautifully judged, quiet reflective moments interspersed with coruscating one liners, this Rita tickled the fancies and stilled the heart. All is directed at Frank, the tutor consumed with his own quiet desperation and fraying at the edges. Alcohol is both his prop and his curse. Malcolm Hobbs could not match Miss Brindley in the acting stakes, his controlled character needed a hint of greater disintegration for that, but it was a carefully observed and measured performance. His was the firm ground on which Rita danced. A bit too firm perhaps, except in a highly comic drunken scene, but one that held your attention.

For the cultural snobs amongst you, Rita was Galatea to Frank’s Pygmalion. For those who know theatre and Willy Russell, she was Breezeblock Park’s Sandra writ large. But whatever Rita was, she and her Frank made for an absorbing evening. Individual acting merits aside, you believed in them both. Pretty important that, as plays with only two characters can be enormously difficult. Not that I know, I have never done one.

But I reckon director Steve Leadbetter quietly considers himself fortunate to have a pairing that had clearly worked their socks off. His packaging will improve as he gets more directorial experience, unfocussed sound and hasty and confused lighting changes displeased, but his first shot at it was a bloody sight better than mine. But however many plays he directs he will rarely get an individual performance as consummate as the one delivered by Sarah Brindley. This Rita roared. Roy Hall

The God of Carnage (Dunstable Rep)

***

My mother was a fierce defender of her kids. A full time job as she had a lot of us. First sniff of bullying and she was up our school quicker than you could say litigation. Not that she used such words. Working class, council estate, sort the little buggers out was her maxim. I reckon she would have been useful to the adult characters of Yasmina Reza’s The God of Carnage. They finish up squabbling much more than the two offstage fisticuff kids who launch and drive the onstage plot. And these parents are middle class and French. The French isn’t relevant, could be anywhere south of Watford, being middle class is. The ostensibly nice and civilised parents of the one bashed about the head with a stick invite the ostensibly nice and civilised parents of the juvenile aggressor for meaningful talks on the problem. Doomed to failure of course. You could see that the minute the curtain rose. Meaningless small talk lightly cloaked a delicate issue in which views and positions were entrenched in slabs of concrete. But what makes the play an interesting and entertaining evening is that the foursome spatting and sparring constantly switched allegiance. The couples warred as much with each other as they did with the other side. I reckon those unseen kids would have enjoyed the mayhem almost as much as the stick bashing event which sparked it. Kids are like that. Ask my mother.

Veronique (Jenna Ryder-Oliver) is a bohemian Hampstead type with cultural snobbery and social conscience stamped all over her attributes. Gets up your nose the minute she opens her mouth. Husband Michel (Dave Sims) is a downmarket toilet salesman with a nice unfeeling line in killing hamsters. Or at least giving them a map and dumping them on the open road to search for adventure. An ill matched pair if ever there was one. Him and her, not the hamster. Annette (Christine Hobart) and Alain (Dave Corbett) are no better. She is a power dressing hypocrite and he is an unfeeling drugs lawyer obsessed with a constantly ringing mobile phone. Much of the fun is watching the thin veneer of respectability disintegrate, beautifully illustrated when Annette throws up over one of Veronique’s arty books, and wondering how on earth such disparate couples stayed together long enough to produce and rear two healthy and feisty eleven year old boys.  I kept musing, as the rum flowed and tempers got increasingly frayed, on how it was all going to end. But it didn’t end, it just unsatisfyingly stopped. They could still be fighting now for all I know.

Thanks to some cracking pacing from Director Anne Blow and excellent teamwork from all four actors the evening whizzed along entertainingly. It is always nice to see folks savagely having a go at throats other than your own. Jenna Ryder-Oliver’s Veronique took the largest chunk of the acting honours for richly rounding out her complex character and for her beautiful observed decline into drunken introspection. It was her kid who got whacked on the head and if he was anything like his mother you could see why. Dave Sims’ Michel was too formal and precise to approach Miss Ryder-Oliver’s stagecraft but in a strange way his uncomfortable persona added rather than detracted from his performance. Here was a man totally out of his depth in his marriage and the situation and his relationship with rodents. You left the theatre feeling a bit sorry for him.

Christine Hobart did her usual dependable job for the Rep in the role of a woman more concerned with abandoned rodents than dodgy drugs on which her husband makes his considerable living. She threw up with ease and raised many a silent cheer when she dunked that bloody mobile phone in a tulip vase. Completing the quartet Dave Corbett etched out a watchable insensitive lawyer. Are insensitive lawyers watchable I ask myself? His well cut suit and handsome beard certainly were. A lighter touch on occasions, teasing the hapless Michel on the virtues of toilet ephemera for instance, would have enhanced his innate cruelty. But Mr Corbett’s staging strength was that he was part of a closely knit team that had clearly worked its collective socks off to create an interesting evening. The credit for that must go to director Anne Blow who had taken four actors of differing abilities and banged them into a coherent and pleasing shape.

Alan Goss created a realistic middle class Parisian living room and Fred Rayment, crucially, delivered the many realistic ringings of the mobile phone. Almost a fifth character in Yasmina Reza’s short but pithy play, she has previous form, this sound effect seriously impressed. You always learn when you go to the theatre, no matter how old you are. This one taught me, as it never did my mother, never try to solve your kid’s playground problems. And if you need a mobile phone to ring on stage, get Fred Rayment. Limited career for him I am afraid. Shakespeare and Ibsen never had one. Roy Hall


Wendy Says:  I could have done with another hour of this. Worth at least three stars, probably more.

3 J's and a Joanna - Dunstable Rep Theatre Club

***

The more perceptive amongst you will have noticed that I haven’t blogged anything for a little while. Given that most folks understandably fall asleep with my musings that’s about three of you. Her indoors has manfully plugged gaps in an early autumn bereft of theatre that appeals. To me that is. But deprived of anything that one usually craves, the urge inexorably returns. My doctor understands, nice man that he is. Explains why I decided to stick my oar into an experimental cabaret evening at the Rep. 3 J’s and a Joanna. The three jays are the singers and the Joanna is a piano. Rhyming slang. Geddit. Not Lumley or Trollope.  God, I am so intelligent. Pretty good. Them not me. And they will get better. Described themselves as stylish, camp, and bitchy. Or something like that. Certainly stylish, occasionally bitchy. And Camp? Well one of them was at the end, beautifully, in spades. But I won’t go there. Their sexuality is something secret between them and their instruments. And a friendly and biased audience so warm to them you could crisp toast on it.

The sniffy critic in me is rarely, if ever, seduced by a crowd overselling a product. Seen too many overpraised turkeys to be taken in by that ploy. But an act just starting out can be forgiven a bit of self indulgent camaraderie as they apply the professional spit and polish. Especially when they are, individually, as good and as talented as the three on stage. High notes and harmony did not always totally please and a couple of numbers, especially Defying Gravity, should either be reworked or quietly dropped. I favour the latter. But enough of their turns had me thinking that this interesting trio might have something. Joe Louis Robinson, the piano man, spun out a sensitive and gentle A Nightingale Sang in Berkeley Square. Jenna Ryder-Oliver twisted and turned the tortuously difficult Words, Words, Words with linguistic aplomb. And Jaymes Sygrove wonderfully conveyed the camp receptionist in a very funny Welcome to Holiday Inn. Acting through song is definitely this threesome’s strength. Just my humble opinion for anyone still awake.

As if to emphasise that point the three combined in a finale that was clever and funny and expertly delivered. Design from the musical The Tailor Made Man. Stylish, bitchy, Esther Williams and Pola Negri. What more do you want. All in one glorious song. No, I’ve never heard of it either. But until tonight I had never heard of 3 J's and a Joanna. Given a bit of presentational polish to add to some obvious class I reckon a lot more folks will soon get to know them. Remember you heard it here first. If you aren’t asleep. Roy Hall

Jenna Ryder-Oliver is appearing at The Pheasantry (Chelsea) on 17th February 2014

 

Griffin Players - The Vicar of Dibley

***

What is it that makes a popular TV sitcom? And can it be translated into a successful stage play? Well I suppose it can but it is a tricky feat to pull off. In the case of The Vicar Of Dibley, I’m sure most people would say that its success was almost entirely due to the fantastic cast of characters created by and around Dawn French’s charming lady vicar Geraldine. And therein lays the rub. Comparison to the original is never far from your mind, particularly when the stage adaptation is comprised of snapshots from the series. Admittedly some of the best moments, but all so well known it’s practically impossible to take the audience by surprise.

Director John O’Leary served up some innovative moments, particularly with the use of Luton Youth Chorale providing live music to welcome the audience and cover scene changes. A clever way to set the atmosphere. Likewise, pianist and choir mistress Julia Mcleish, leading the audience in a hymn preceding Geraldine’s first sermon, set the scene beautifully and established us as the congregation. But overall some of the pacing was a little slow and punch lines so predictable that comedy was often lost. 

On the whole the cast was a strong one, led by Dee Lovelock making a likeable and straightforward ‘Geraldine’, her timing was good and she made the part her own. And Matt Flitton was superb as the dopey ‘Hugo Horton’, absorbing all the mannerisms expected of the character but maintaining an inner truth. I found Alistair Brown’s ‘David Horton’ rather deliberate but his constant exasperation was never in any doubt, and Gary Nash produced an almost exact replica of the TV ‘Jim Trott’ to the delight of many. So precise in fact that it rather highlighted that others were not. Sadly the character that really didn’t work was ‘Alice’, the dippy, off-the wall verger. Jennifer McDonald tried valiantly to create her own version of this iconic sidekick, but in a team of lookalikes she was the one that was physically least like the original and suffered most in comparison.

I’m sure the company were pleased with their production and it was certainly successful at attracting a decent sized audience, no mean feat these days when theatre is considered a luxury and plays so rarely performed in Luton. It’s just a shame that such a weak script, by an un-credited author, is served up as a vehicle for supporting ‘Comic Relief’. But then TV sitcom adaptations are surprisingly popular if generally disappointing.  Frances Hall

Beauty And The Beast - Empire Theatre Arts

****
A guest review from Frances Hall with a four star rating. Given this fine company's history I am not surprised. Clearly I missed a treat. Much better than the horseracing results from York. Roy Hall

Beauty and the Beast

Disney musicals are not everyone’s cup of tea, and I think Mr Hall probably made the right decision to opt out of this one, purely from the point of view that he is much more inclined towards the gritty realism of a ‘Les Miserables’ or ‘West Side Story’ than this sweet and tender adaptation of the popular children’s love story. However, he did miss another stunningly produced offering from this talented group of youngsters. Being a director of musicals myself, I appreciate just how much planning and expertise Lucy O’Hare and her production team must put in before she embarks on her two week Summer School productions. Nothing is left to chance. The set is carefully conceived  and the means to construct it in place; the technical crew, some of the best available in the area, are booked and primed;  the Musical Director, Graham Thomson, with hand-picked orchestra, is ready to teach complex harmonies; Lucy’s mother Gaye is designing and making costumes (loads and wonderful for this production!). The list goes on.  I believe the principals are auditioned and cast in advance, but beyond that everything happens in two weeks of concentrated rehearsal. And that requires an enormous amount of enthusiasm and solid hard graft. And, wow, what enthusiasm leaps off that stage. No matter whether the part is big or small, chorus or principal, everyone is having a ball.

I went to the matinee and was predictably surrounded by wriggling, giggling, girly girls, many in replica ‘Belle’ party frocks who absolutely loved every minute. They all knew the story, the songs and the classic ‘Be Our Guest’ routine of dancing crockery. Wisely the production mirrored the film as closely as possible and the characterisations kept firmly in the two dimensional, no gritty realism required. None the less Ellie Reay was a charming and beautiful ‘Belle’, with real maturity in her singing, and Alistair Robinson a fine balance of angry ‘Beast’ and lost soul, played with depth. All the enchanted servants were good, although I lost some of the diction from ‘Lumiere’ (Harvey J. Eldridge) and Babette (Abbie Mead) in otherwise fine performances. Jessica Pegram as ‘Mrs Potts’ was particularly strong and sang the title number beautifully, sparkly supported by her tea-cup son ‘Chip’ (Connie Jenkins-Grieg). Cameron Hay was having a whale of a time with his excellent he-man ‘Gaston’ and was ably supported by an ebullient Harry Rodgers as ‘Le Fou’. The company numbers were all outstandingly well sung with some nice characterisations in the background. In the unenviable role of lone adult in the cast, Chris Young gave a touching performance as Belle’s father and would-be Heath-Robinson inventor ‘Maurice’.

Production-wise Fred Rayment’s lighting was absolutely superb, how lovely to be able to indulge in sumptuous ‘Disney’ effects. If I have a criticism it has to be that at times the pace dropped in some acting scenes, and for me I would have preferred that the Beast and the Prince were in fact the same actor, tricky but possible.  But, all in all, another in a long line of brilliant productions from Empire Theatre Arts. Can’t wait to see what next year will bring. Frances Hall

Star Gazing (Crackers and Turkeys)

I write two blogs to help me pass the time in my old age. The other one, no I ain't saying what it is, regularly gets between 100 and 200 hits a day and it won’t be long before it passes the 50,000 figure. In about two years. It amazes how folks find it because I don’t advertise. But it clearly has universal, if minority, appeal. The power of Google, I says. My theatre blog is much more localised and specific. Hence the hits are cumulatively lower and much more volatile. But still respectable with the 15,000 mark coming up and occasionally hits 200 in a day when a new show or play gets a comment. Folks may say they don’t read them but, clearly, some do. Long may they continue. Much as I enjoy my scribing I would give up if nothing got read. Whistling in the dark is a fruitless occupation. Not likely to happen because even a piece on a Radio Three play is still regularly viewed and a touring professional company recently put my four star rating of its show on its advertising blurb.

And that brings me on to those illusive stars. I need to put in a health warning here. They are just part of the fun I get from reviewing. Completely meaningless and unscientific and best ignored. Unless you get four or five. They are merely a snapshot of one man’s gut feeling and reflect absolutely nothing else. It was after I had reviewed about ten pieces that I decided to put them in. I had seen a couple of crackers (ACT’s Still Life and Empire Arts Les Miserables) and wanted to draw extra attention to them. It grew from there and now, when me and her indoors come home, the stars and half stars are debated almost as much as the production detail. It is a game we play which amuses. And that amusement is the sole purpose of my theatre blog. For me who writes and, hopefully, for those who read. Explains why I will never blog anything I completely loathed. Nil stars don’t exist for me. I used to savage the occasional piece for The Luton News but I was paid a miniscule sum to do that. Here I can just ignore them. Nothing is gained by me blogging that something is absolute crap. There is enough nastiness on the internet without me adding to it. So I only blog what I want and the truth, when it will hurt, is carefully wrapped. Or I hope it is.

I have posted about 80 pieces since I started just over two years ago. Ignoring previews and musings I reckon that means I have given my opinion on around 50 productions of one sort or another. (Oh, go on, count them. I can’t be bothered). A few do not get a star rating for numerous reasons. Not appropriate, as per St Andrews Christmas is a Coming or, in memory of the late Peter Clarke, A Night at the Theatre. Magnificent and uplifting celebratory evenings, they invoke emotions not conducive to analytical ratings. But most of the rest do. They have crafted for umpteen weeks, dotting every theatrical point and crossing every staging hurdle with meticulous care. Or they should have. So they deserve a star rating even if they, wisely, completely ignore it. I have never given five stars to anything, presumably because if I do I shall have to give up searching, but four* have scored four and a half which is almost the same. As I show  them as ***** then, as I tell folks, print the review out in black and white and it looks as if it is a coveted five. For those reading this and still awake the following explains how the rating is arrived at. We are a sad pair in our house.

***** 

See below or above

*****  

Virtually faultless in acting, direction, staging, imagination.

****   

High quality acting throughout, especially principals. Usually imaginatively  staged and directed and rich in production values.

**** 

Strong acting, especially principals. Good production values, especially staging. Rated up to or down from four depending on overall coherence.

 

***

Good quality production with some excellent acting. Directing and staging generally good but lacking a special quality to make it exceptional.

***

Acting and direction generally good but not exceptional. Some weaknesses in smaller parts. Staging would have to be exceptional for higher rating.

**

Acting and direction acceptable but nothing in the production to grab the senses.

*

I like the company and I like the actors but nothing inspires.

 

 

So there you have it. Singularly pointless blog, singularly pointless read. But I bet some of you do.

 

Roy Hall

 

*Those four are:-

 

Still Life (ACT Company – July 2011)

Les Miserables (Empire Arts – August 2011)

And Then There Were None (Dunstable Rep – October 2012)

Hay Fever (Hitchin Queen Mother – June 2013)